


Close Your Eyes (And Be Robbed Blind)

by starfishdancer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Biospecialist - Freeform, F/M, Probably Historically Inacccurate, So Let's Say It Is in a Parallel Universe Where Anachronisms Are Not Out of Place There, Travel Theme, WardSimmonsSummer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishdancer/pseuds/starfishdancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jemma and Daisy travel by stagecoach, and the journey is more eventful than anticipated. For the Ward Simmons Summer travel theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes (And Be Robbed Blind)

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to write something else (more road trip!) for this session of Ward Simmons Summer, but the muse proved uncooperative. Then I remembered I had something else nearly done that fit the theme as well. Title (which might be subject to change, I'm not entirely sold on it) from Martina Sorbara's "Better Man".
> 
> Note: Edited to fix the tense because I was tired and missed it the first time, dammit.

Jemma shifts uncomfortably, then moves away from pressing so close to Daisy as the stagecoach lurches again. She is thankful only a few passengers are left on this final leg of her journey and they are only two to a bench now. The gentleman who’d been wedged in next to her for days had snored loudly. Fortunately, he’d leaned against the side of their conveyance rather than tip into her shoulder, as one poor man on the far bench is currently enduring from his companion. Daisy squeezes Jemma’s hand and smiles tiredly. 

“Are you sure you won’t come with me to Providence? I hate the thought of leaving you behind, in a strange small town alone.”

“I’m sure,” Jemma says firmly, though she doesn’t let go of Daisy’s hand. The other comes up to tap against her locket, reminding herself not to tug at it nervously as was her habit. The bail is worn and she knows she can’t afford to get it repaired if she breaks it. 

“Steven won’t mind, I’m certain of it,” Daisy continues.

“Daisy,” Jemma smiles tiredly. “I’m sure Captain Rogers would be very accommodating, but you and I both know that the last thing a new marriage needs is a gooseberry.”

“Will it be safe, there, though?” Daisy presses. “And anyway, I think Stephen would be happier if you’d make the rest of the journey through to the military post near Providence. He did that frowning thing when I told him you were only travelling as far as Talon’s Ridge. He worries, you know. And I’m sure he’s got a few handsome soldiers in his regiment we could introduce you to…”

“If I wanted a hasty marriage that would make neither party happy, I’d have married Fitz when he asked. Reluctantly, I might add,” Jemma says dryly. “As for safety, I telegraphed Sheriff Coulson, and he assured me the room provided above the tavern is perfectly safe and that he’ll check in on me as part of his circuit.”

“Above the tavern, Jemma? And the nuns at the orphanage thought I was the troublesome one!”

“You are the troublesome one,” Jemma counters, squeezing Daisy’s hand. “It’s a very small town, and that’s where the school board was able to secure a space. And as for safety… well, things aren’t necessarily safe in the city, either.”

“What did you mean?”

Jemma sighs. “Fitz isn’t the only one who made a proposal.”

“What? Who? Jemma Simmons, how could you hold out on me! Two marriage proposals you didn’t think to mention to your bosom friend?”

“Alexander Pierce.”

“But… but Mr. Pierce is married.”

Jemma nods. “And since his business holdings are numerous and he is … persistent, I thought it best to move along, before he ruined all my prospects of living independently…”

“Oh, Jemma,” Daisy says. “You should have told me.”

“You’d have told Captain Rogers-”

“Of course I would have!”

“And then it would have been more trouble, perhaps for him as well. This is easiest for everyone, I think. Besides,” Jemma continues on. “I’ve already agreed to teach in Talon’s Ridge. It wouldn’t do to leave the children without a schoolmistress.”

“I’ll miss you dreadfully,” Daisy says, releasing Jemma’s hands and to squeeze her tightly.

“I’ll miss you as well.” Jemma rests her head against Daisy’s. “I’ll write every month.”

“Every week,” Daisy’s voice sounds like she’s blinking back tears. “I want to know everything that happens in your new life.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it just as boring as you did mine back at the orphanage, when you were dragging me into your shenanigans,” Jemma smiles fondly. “’Dear Daisy, Today I graded compositions, then read a book.’ You’ll be the one writing about your new friends in town and the parties you’ll attend as the Captain’s wife.”

“Dreadfully stuffy events without you, I’m sure,” Daisy says, and continues before Jemma can protest. “And even if they aren’t, they might as well be. I’ll miss you so much, Jem.”

Instead of moving back apart, they stay leaned closely though the air in the stagecoach is warm and beginning to go stale again. They doze that way, until the coach comes to an abrupt halt, rocking hard enough that Jemma has to brace herself to keep from sliding to the floor. The man who’d been laying prostrate on the middle is not so quick and suffers the fate Jemma and Daisy manage to avoid.

“What?” Daisy blinks sleepily, but is doesn’t say anything more before a crack of a gunshot echoes outside. In the dark of the carriage, Jemma can see Daisy’s eyes gone wide, even as their hands find each other in the dark. She feels Daisy’s nails leaving crescents in her skin, and was sure she was doing the same to her friend. More cracks of gunshot and shouting come from outside, before a heavy silence settles over them.

Jemma holds her breath, her heart beat seeming loud in her ears though surely she’s the only one who can hear the rapid pounding. Then the door is being pulled open, and grinning face is leering in. In the moonlight, the face seems almost familiar, and then it hits Jemma like she’s been struck in the chest, where she’d seen it. 

That grin, those manic eyes had been captured perfectly on the wanted posters they’d seen in the last three stops. John Garrett, the leader of the dangerous Garrett Gang. They were known for having a thing for trains, and they were good at what they did. Jemma had overheard, while she and Daisy picked at the grim stew they’d purchased at one inn, that in minutes the gang could stop a train and clear the goods from the baggage car, while Garrett himself cleared out any gold and jewels the first class passengers were carrying. 

What she hadn’t heard, however, was that the gang’s thievery extended to stagecoaches. 

“Gentlemen,” Garrett says in a mocking tone, then his eyes fall on Jemma and Daisy. “And ladies. If you’ll be so kind as to make your exit calmly from the coach?”

A glint of silver shows a raised gun. “And don’t get any ideas, gentlemen. I’d hate for these lovely creatures to get injured if someone were, say, feeling brave.”

Two rough-looking men come into view, scarred faces set in fierce expressions that Jemma refused to show frighten her, though she is no longer convinced the tattoo of her heart is inaudible. The coach driver is trussed up next to the wheel, and the man who’d been riding shotgun is leaning casually next to him. 

Ah, Jemma thinks at the ease and familiarity he seems to be displaying with their bandits. She wonders at what might have made their stagecoach a target. Something one of the other passengers has brought, she supposes.

That’s when the third man steps around from the shadows into the view of the doorway. He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Jemma has ever seen. The kind of man, she’s certain, that the ancient artists would have modelled the statues of the gods on. His eyes lock with Jemma’s, she feels suddenly glad that the meagre moonlight will hide her blush. It is Daisy who breaks whatever spell he had on her, clutching at Jemma’s arm with her free hand to pull her back against the wall of the carriage with a grip hard enough to bruise.

“Ladies,” the man drawls in a cocky tone Jemma knows she’ll be trying to drown out for days even as a wicked grin graces his mouth. “I think it might be best if you moved over here. Keep the gentlemen from getting any bright ideas.” 

Garrett gestures at Daisy with the gun. She sets her chin mulishly but wisely holds her tongue as she moves to out the door, letting go of Jemma’s white-knuckled fingers only once their arms can stretch no further. Jemma follows at the next wave of the pistol, moving with as much dignity as she can muster. As she steps out blindly onto the step, she loses her balance. Strong hands find their way to her waist, steadying her, before moving to tuck her arm in his, as though he was escorting her on a stroll, not robbing her carriage. His other hand, she sees, was not free, but casually holding a sizable gun of his own. She moves to tug away, but the grip tightens in warning. A warning she heeds. 

Daisy is held in place by one of the frightening-looking men, her back a stiff line as her upper arms are encircled by what surely is an iron grip. Jemma sends a prayer up to the God the nuns were always on them about that Daisy will hold her tongue for once and not get herself in further trouble. 

Garrett wrenches the other passengers out of the carriage, where they are searched for weapons, wallets, and watches. They are then tied up by the gang member not currently occupied by keeping Jemma and Daisy in line while Garrett and the express messenger rifle through the chests in the back. Jemma can see clothes discarded in the dust as they pick through the luggage, a triumphant noise coming now and again. Jemma’s own possessions are paltry at best; she hasn’t much of value to lose.

“Pardon me, ladies,” Garrett spits, “but Ward’ll be taking your gold and jewels now.” He looks over the two women, smiling nastily at their pinned arms. Ward’s grip becomes possessive, and Jemma finds herself pulled along, as though on that stroll she’d absurdly thought of, to where Daisy stood, her friend’s eyes looking as they want to shoot fire. 

Daisy doesn’t have much in the way of possessions either, but the simple gold necklace was gift from Captain Rogers, when he’d begun to seriously court her. She flinches as it is torn from her neck, but doesn’t fight. When the thug moves to grip her left hand, though, Jemma knows a struggle is about to begin.

“Don’t, please, Daisy. Ca-” she pleads, stopping herself before she can give away Captain Rogers’ rank and potentially endanger Daisy further. “Your husband would rather you without a wedding band than see you injured.”

The man Garrett had called Ward releases Jemma’s arm to hold out his hand. Jemma can see Daisy blink back tears, but she doesn’t argue, merely pulls off her simple band and drops it in the open hand, though Jemma does hear her utter a few words the nuns certainly hadn’t taught them. At Garrett’s gun gesture, Daisy reluctantly makes her way back into the coach at a dragging pace, clearly not wanting to leave Jemma alone.

The nameless thug then turns to Jemma, prepared to snap the silver locket from her neck. Instinctively, her hands fly to her throat. The thug moves menacingly forward but something stops him in his tracks.

“It was Mama’s,” she finds herself saying. Ward’s eyes move to her, hard like steel, but before anyone’s hands can grasp it, she moves to unclasp it. 

“I can’t bear to think of it broken,” Jemma pleads. “I’ll take it off, but please, don’t…”

Ward’s eyes seem almost to soften as she fumbles with the clasp. Then he’s behind her, hands moving to her neck. His fingers brush gently on her skin, almost like a caress, and then the locket drops into her hand. She turns around to face him, and he steps closer into her space when she retreats from him. His eyes study her again as he takes the locket from her shaking hand.

She has no other jewelry for them to take, and it seems Garrett found her reticule on the floor of the coach, not that there was much in the way of coins to take from that either. The thug moves to grip her arms to shove her in with Daisy, but Ward steps out in front of her, then takes her arm instead. 

The other passengers are left tied outside while Ward helps Jemma up the steps. He doesn’t release her hand as he settles her into the carriage, but instead pulls it to brush his lips over her knuckles.

“Ma’am,” he says simply, before shooting her a grin, touching his hat as though in salute. The door shuts behind the girls, and the gang can be heard mounting their horses. A gunshot rings out, and Jemma can’t bear to look to see if it was just a warning or if someone is hurt. Once they are sure the thieves are gone, after long tense minutes with their hands fisted on their skirts, Jemma and Daisy stumble from the coach to untie their driver and fellow passengers. The man who was meant to deter robbers, not assist them, is slumped against the wheel, red spreading on his chest.

It’s then, Jemma realizes as she moves to verify that the man is indeed dead, that she is clutching something.

Opening her hand, she discovers her locket pressed into it. 

Jemma feels something bubble in her chest, gratitude mixed with something else. Those men are trouble, every one of them, she knows, but she can’t help but think about the way Ward’s eyes fixed on her almost lazily, the slow bloom of smile and the way that kiss hadn’t feel like goodbye but like a promise. Like a claim. 

He’ll find her again. She knows it deep in her bones. He isn’t finished with her yet. She can’t make herself dread it. 

She can still feel the gentle brush of his mouth across her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I Iove and adore comments. They feed the muse. Questions are also welcome, as are drop-by stops on my Tumblr to say hello. 
> 
> I also strongly suspect this will get a follow up.


End file.
